


Goodnight, Irene

by jadztone



Series: Sherlock Nanowrimo [6]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Multi, Set during HLV
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-03
Updated: 2017-07-03
Packaged: 2018-11-23 00:37:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11391729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jadztone/pseuds/jadztone
Summary: Mary goes to visit Irene, and their connection to each other is revealed.





	Goodnight, Irene

**Author's Note:**

> This is part of a series of stories I wrote for Nanowrimo and posted on my tumbler page, sherlock-nanowrimo.tumblr.com. I was doing a story a day, generally leaving them open-ended if I wanted to add on to the story later in the month. The ones that I did add on to will be posted on AO3 as multiple chapters. They will all be posted as complete, with no expectation that I will ever revisit them. I haven't changed them from the way they were posted on tumblr, they have their issues, but I like to think of them as diamonds in the rough. The stories contain multiple crossovers with other fandoms, and multiple ships.

Mary strolled through the park, reveling in the warm sunshine.  It was springtime in Lima, whereas in London it was almost winter. She heard the waves of the Pacific ocean crashing nearby.  The Miraflores district in Peru was her favorite.  Especially this park with the El Beso statue.  It was a striking monolith, an enormous depiction of two lovers reclined in an embrace.  She approached the statue, her smile bittersweet as she thought about how much she wanted to be in such an embrace with John at that moment.  Ironic, given that she once thought the same thing about the woman she was about to meet at the base of the statue.  She saw her standing there, looking up at the two lovers, a small knowing smile on her face.  As Mary got closer, the woman turned as if sensing her presence.  The Woman, as Sherlock liked to call her. Irene Adler.  She beamed at Mary, which had its usual effect on her.  Irene was heartstoppingly gorgeous to be sure, but it was what was behind the smile that struck Mary right to the heart.  It was their shared past, everything they had been through together, that provided depth and warmth to that smile.    

Mary reached Irene and stopped, at arms-length distance from her.  “Hello, Selina.”  It was Irene’s current alias, Selina Matthews.  Irene stepped closer to Mary, and leaned in to kiss her.  Mary retreated.  “Sorry, I can’t.  I’m married to John, now.”  

Irene raised one eyebrow. “So?”

Mary couldn’t help but smile.  “I fell in love with him, Selina.  I mean, I love both of you, but I’m married to him and he deserves my loyalty.”

Irene took a deep breath and let it out.  “Fair enough. It’s refreshing to see, I suppose. In my line of work, fidelity isn’t highly regarded.  If people were more like you, my client list would be much shorter.  But I have to ask, if you didn’t come here to be with me, why did you want to meet?”

Mary looked off towards the ocean for a moment, and then back at Irene.  “When we were last together and we were saying our goodbyes, I don’t think we thought they would be final.  I wanted to meet so we could make them final.”

Irene pursed her lips together.  “Ah. Closure, then.”

Mary nodded.  “I may regret doing this, given that I have no guarantee I even have a future with John.  But you both deserve better than for me to string you along. You deserve to know how I really feel about him.  And John deserves for me to not be still tied to you emotionally.”

Irene turned towards the statue, looking up at it again, then after a moment she turned back to Mary. “Well then, let’s go someplace more private for our discussion.  I have a driver waiting.”  She strode off at a brisk pace, and Mary followed along.  “I’m going to assume you were successful in eluding anyone following you when you left London?”

“It was no easy task, but yes.  I was being tailed by Magnusson’s people, Mycroft’s people, and Sherlock’s homeless network.  It took a bit of doing, but I shook them.  None of them have any idea where I am, and hopefully don’t even know that I’ve left London much less flew halfway around the world.”

They arrived at the car and were whisked off to Irene’s flat.   As she walked into the front door, Mary felt a little frisson of awareness.  They were alone, now.  She turned to Irene, who had just finished closing the door, and was looking at Mary in that predatory way of hers.  Mary hoped she would respect her wishes and not try anything.  She may love John, but she also still loved Irene and she was only flesh and blood.  She could tell that Irene knew this, because her smile deepened even as Mary’s apprehension increased.  Irene walked towards her and Mary felt the blood rushing to her head, but at the last moment, when she was mere inches away, Irene pivoted just enough to walk past Mary, their arms brushing.  Mary saw the mischievous glint in Irene’s eyes when she passed her.  Clearly she was relishing the power she still had over Mary.

Irene went over to the lush red sofa and lowered herself onto it.  She slipped off her high heels and drew her legs up underneath her, leaning back invitingly, her smile devilish.  Mary briskly walked over and perched herself on a chair opposite the sofa. Irene’s eyes sparkled with amusement. Why did she have to be so adorable? This behavior of hers was what had completely dismantled Mary’s plans when they first met.  Magnusson was the one who brought them together.  Using the information he had on Mary, he’d blackmailed her into the assignment to find Irene and assassinate her. But when she actually met Irene, she’d folded like a lawn chair.  Irene outwitted her and then seduced her.  

Once Irene had cast her spell over Mary, and Mary confessed her assignment, Irene shared that the reason Magnusson wanted her killed was because he was afraid of her.  This man who wielded his power by holding secrets over people had been unable to do so with Irene because she didn’t have any. She kept plenty of secrets on people, just like Magnusson, but never had any of her own.  Anyone who bothered to check her website could see she was an open book about her orientation, sexual proclivities, career, everything.  He’d never been able to figure out her pressure points.  He couldn’t control her.  And as he was a client of hers, she knew plenty about him.  She had all the power and that was unacceptable to him.  He kept a close eye on her activities, including her involvement with Moriarty and then Sherlock.  When she disappeared and was later rumored to be dead, he couldn’t believe it.  From what he knew about Sherlock Holmes, there was the slightest chance that her death had been faked and he couldn’t risk having her out there in the world alive with the information she had on him.  So he’d sent Mary to find her and kill her.

It didn’t take long for Irene to figure out what Magnusson had on Mary that prompted her to do his bidding with this assignment.  Mary spilled everything.  Having no scruples of her own, Irene didn’t care that she was an assassin.  She did find Mary fascinating, though.  Her skills, her intelligence, her past. Their love affair had been scorching. Mary put off Magnusson as long as she could, under the pretense of still trying to find Irene.  But eventually his wrath built to the point that he didn’t care if she couldn’t find Irene, he was going to spill Mary’s secrets.  Mary and Irene worked on a plan to make it look like Mary discovered that Irene was dead after all.  It worked, and Magnusson summoned Mary back to London.  Irene urged her to go to Sherlock and ask for his help.  If there was anyone on earth who could defeat Magnusson, it was Sherlock.  Mary agreed to her request.  During their time together, Irene spoke often of Sherlock. For someone incredible like Irene to revere this man, he must be quite incredible himself.  

When Mary got back to London, she vowed to go visit Sherlock.  But literally the morning she intended to visit 221B Baker Street, she’d unfolded the newspaper to see the headline that Sherlock had plunged to his death from the rooftop of St. Bart’s hospital.  Mary had never met him, yet she’d been crushed by his death.  He’d been her only hope to defeat Magnusson. Plus she had to wonder how Irene would take it when she heard the news.  It would surely be devastating to her.  Mary didn’t dare try to contact her so soon after getting back, as she was not sure just how closely she was being monitored by Magnusson’s people.

Mary eventually decided that the only way she could gain back control of her life was to assassinate Magnusson.  She went to work as a nurse in a private clinic both as a living and in order to establish an identity in London.  She befriended Janine with the intent of using their connection to get to Magnusson. She eventually got in touch with Irene briefly, and told her what she was up to.  Irene was convinced that Sherlock wasn’t really dead, that he had faked his death to defeat Moriarty.  Mary agreed that was likely, but it didn’t do much good for her situation.  

Everything was going as swimmingly as it could, when by sheer coincidence, John went to work for the same private clinic where Mary worked.  She thought it was hilarious at first, how bizarre it was that she was interacting with him of all people.  Of all the gin joints in all the world, he had to walk into hers.  It didn’t take her long to see why Sherlock had been drawn to him.  She eventually found herself falling in love with him.  Every so often, when she was sure she wasn’t being watched, she sent Irene the barest of news on what was happening.  For her part, Irene was being particularly cryptic and Mary found herself wondering if Sherlock had sought out Irene and they were together bonding over their faked deaths.

And then there was that fateful day when Sherlock showed up at the restaurant just as John was about to propose.  Talk about a complete mind fuck.  Here finally was the man that both of the people she loved were completely gaga over. And after spending an evening in his presence, she could see why.  She liked him.  A lot.

But now things were infinitely more complicated.  When she had originally planned to ask Sherlock for help, it was as a friend of Irene’s.  But now she was with John, and had spent her entire time with him lying about both her past and their present connection via Irene.  There was no way Sherlock was going to be receptive to helping someone who has been deceiving his best friend.  She decided to continue with the plan she’d been carrying out thus far.  

A couple of times during this period she’d gotten in touch with Irene, who was incredulous that she hadn’t gone to Sherlock immediately upon his rise from the dead.  Mary, noting the lack of surprise when she told Irene that Sherlock was alive, was too eaten up with jealousy to heed her advice.  They’d obviously been together most of the time that Sherlock was “dead.” If Irene was so concerned about Mary’s dilemma, she would have told Sherlock about Mary and they would have helped her from whatever corner of the world they were faking their death.  But obviously Irene had not, because Sherlock hadn’t a clue who she was when he met her.

Mary continued on with her scheme to get to Magnusson through Janine.  They had gotten close enough that by the time John proposed, Mary could ask her to be maid of honor without it seeming weird.  In hindsight, Mary should have listened to Irene and spilled to Sherlock as soon as he got back.  If she had done so, then the whole debacle in Magnusson’s office would not have happened.  John might have been far more forgiving of her lies and her past if she hadn’t also mortally wounded his best friend.  

Now here she was, alienated from John.  Still under Magnusson’s thumb.  Forced to trust Sherlock’s vow to help her, even though he had every right to tell her to piss off.  None of them were aware of her connection with Irene and she was sure that if any one of them found out about it the hammer would fall quite severely.  So of course, when the stakes were at their absolute highest, she decided that she needed to meet with Irene one last time.

Mary looked at Irene lounging on the sofa, her eyes inviting Mary to join her and repeat some of the lovely memories they had spent there together.  Instead she blurted out, “Were you and Sherlock together while he was pretending to be dead?”

Irene raised one eyebrow. “Well, now, I didn’t expect that. Is that why you shot him, Mary? Because you thought he’d been fucking me?  Even though you’ve been fucking John.”  Mary gritted her teeth, refusing to dignify that with a response.  For a moment it seemed like Irene would refuse to answer her as well.  But then she replied, coldly, “As you already know, Mary, he was working that whole time to dismantle Moriarty’s network.  He did get in touch with me to assure me he wasn’t really dead, but otherwise he was quite preoccupied.”  Mary’s cheeks burned with this refutation of her accusation.  Irene continued her haughty gaze for a few moments, then softened. “Mary, I can’t pretend that I would have remained loyal to you if Sherlock had come to me.  You know how I feel about him.  Your fears would have been well founded.  So be rest assured that apparently neither of us can resist those fabulous Baker Street Boys.”

Mary exhaled slowly. “They know all about my past, now. Sherlock has taken me on as a client. But he still doesn’t know about the connection between you and me.”

Irene shook her head. “He doesn’t need to.  It’s irrelevant.  It only complicates what is a simple problem – how to shut down Magnusson. Maybe once he solves the case you can tell him.  Otherwise, it’s just clutter and Sherlock hates clutter in his Mind Palace.”

Mary reluctantly nodded. “Okay.”  She cast about for what to say next.  “Irene, I’m…”

“Pregnant.”  Irene said the word simply, quietly.

Mary gave her a startled look.  “How did you…?”

“You forget that I’m the woman who beat Sherlock.  I have my own powers of observation and deduction.  Like the fact that I know your body inside and out, and I know that your weight gain is not due to overindulgence.”

Irene suddenly slipped off the sofa and before Mary had the chance to react, Irene was kneeling before Mary’s chair, leaning over to place her ear against Mary’s abdomen.  Mary gripped the arms of the chair as she watched Irene crouch in such an intimate fashion before her. After a moment, Irene looked up at her.  Her gaze intense, she said, “You know, I could lure you back from John.  I could make you mine, again.  Especially now when he’s rejected you, fool that he is.” Mary sucked in her breath, keeping her expression blank.  Irene blinked a few times, her lashes wet with tears.  “But I won’t.  I know he will take you back.  He’s not that much of a fool.  I can’t be the one to break the two of you up for good.  I couldn’t do that to you or to John or to your child.  And besides, Sherlock would never forgive me.”  She smiled coyly.  

Irene stood up and went over to look out the window.  “Wasn’t it a year ago that John almost died in that fire?”  

“Yes.  A year ago yesterday.  Guy Fawkes night.”

Irene traced an imaginary pattern in the window.  “That was probably Magnusson.  It was certainly his style.”

Mary looked down.  “Yes, I thought so, too.”

Irene turned to look at her. “Keep them safe, Mary.  I believe that Sherlock would do anything to keep John from being hurt again.  Who knows what he would do to Magnusson if he can’t defeat him by wit alone.  They need you.  Go to them.  Protect them.”

Mary gazed at her resolutely.  “I will. I promise.”

Irene looked back towards the window.  “And one more thing.  Like the fifth of November…remember me, Mary.”

Mary looked down at her hands.  “I could never forget you, my love.”  When she looked up, she saw that Irene was no longer by the window. She looked around and saw a door at the far end of the room sliding shut.  

The front door opened, and the driver came in and said, “I’ve been instructed to take you to the airport.”

Holding back her tears, Mary stood up and followed him out of the flat.  She paused at the threshold and looked back at the room that held so many memories.  “Goodnight, Irene,” she whispered, repeating a frequent inside joke shared between them. Then she turned and closed the door.


End file.
